I don’t mince words much. Never could. Just end up slicing up everything around me when I try.
I do spin plates. Many, many of them. And, they all, always, require immediate attention.
I have spent my lifetime, trying to live in a world that wants all of those plates in boxes; craves only sound bites; and, expects death-defying acrobatics.
What is a girl to do?
I have spent a lifetime making increasingly vain attempts to contort myself into the most uncomfortable forms. Again and again I have climbed the trapeze, taking daring leaps with no net. Now and then, stepping out of the tent, calling to those around me for audience; attempting to convince the world (and myself) that I am not just another side show… or, at least, I am one that is worth a ticket.
And, while I am distracted from my many acts, plates fall and shatter. Words fly like daggers out to the crowds. Twisted into constricting knots, this ring master/juggler/acrobat gets left mute, broken and bleeding.
All anyone ever peeks in to see is the mess left behind. As, again, ticketless and uncharitable, they roll their eyes.
Alas, the show must go on.